Journey
by JanxAngel
Summary: Bobby and OC friendship & case files. Looking in on the journey of life.
1. First Step On A Long Road

Some of you will recognize some of this chapter as being a major portion of "Coolest Thing Ever". This is because I really did want those events to happen in this, the long form fic, but only was working off a prompt at the time. There were some adjustments made to fit better with the overall tone of this story. Hope you enjoy the partial remake and the rest of the story as it comes.

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Today had been the worst day he could recall in a very long time. Sure he had gotten his job back, but at what cost? His partner was the one that made him as good as he was. He was the first to admit it, but now she thought that he didn't think so. That he was somehow too good for her… How could she ever think that? He figured that it had to be at least in part because he had been so wrapped up in his own world for the last year and a half. He had gone off on his own, shut her out, left her wondering on the sidelines, when it was part of her job to watch his back. Of course she was pissed off. He had just been too, lost, to see it.

So now he had contented himself with drowning his sorrows in a great quantity of booze. It took no small amount to get him even buzzed, so the measure required to get him this very drunk was large indeed. Whiskey, over and over again. Another? Please. There was no saying no, just the final you've had enough. Ok. So he wandered out the door and into the New York City night. His feet taking him to places he'd never really gone before, or at least didn't recall ever having gone to.

He didn't know how long he had been walking, or how far, when he found it. A jungle gym. Even in his drunken and depressed state, he had the thought that it was just too cool not to try it out. Especially since it was one of the big old solid ones like they hadn't built in 20 years. Built like a tank and could hold 30 kids before shifting a millimeter. It was a bigger sized one too! Not quite tall enough for him to hold himself off the ground without lifting his feet, but he didn't have to lift his knees up too.

He was just thinking about all the good times he had had as a kid on one of these, thinking about what kind of tricks and stunts he could do back then, when it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he could _still_ do it...

He quickly took off his coat and draped it over the monkey bars and headed for the balance beams. On second thought, he figured he didn't want to risk staggering home on a sprained ankle. The pull up bar was first then. He pulled himself up a few times, happy he could still do any, and then managed to flip himself over to hang from his knees over the bar. After a minute the head rush was getting to him, heightening his already drunken state.

He grabbed the bar, unhooked his legs, and lowered himself to the ground, grinning all the while. This taste of victory convinced him that he should try another trick too.

Bobby went over to the hanging rings and pulled himself up, getting a slow swinging going. He was happily lost in a haze of memory and whiskey and promptly forgot about the rest of the world. He swung himself back and forth a bit, got some side to side motion as well. He remembered the one time he thought about trying to get good at a sport and go to the Olympics, he thought he could work the rings pretty well too. His favorite move was to swing back and forth, then do a flip while letting go. He set himself to swinging a bit harder, gaining more altitude with each pass. Finally he decided it was time and proceeded to kick his feet up and over his head, push his arms out to move the rings away and then fall in a heap into the soft sand below the rings. His mind had executed the maneuver perfectly and if he had still been ten it would have been fine. But he was much taller and bigger now and the two didn't see eye to eye.

"Helpful hint," a female voice said. "Wait until you're sober before trying that again."

"I don't think I'd try it at all if I was sober."

"Need a hand?"

"Sure. At least to help get my feet untangled."

She laughed lightly, holding out her hand, "Least I can do for passing a stranger."

"Thanks. Whatcha doin' out here anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Juss wandering."

"A midnight adventure through the city, seeing where your restless feet take you on your journey through the shadows of the ever wakeful city of light and sound?"

He blinked at her slowly. "Yeah... How'd you know?"

"I guess because I'm doing the same thing. If it's not objectionable to you I'd like very much not to wander alone."

" D'you always talk to random strangers in the middle of da night?"

"No. But anyone trying to do gymnastics at four something in the morning while dead drunk and smiling five miles wide can't be all bad."

He processed this for a moment before replying, "You still can't be shure."

"True. Do I have a reason to be afraid of you?"

"Shome people might think so."

"Why's that?"

"They think 'm crazy. I'm not though. I ask m'self that, sho 'm not."

"That's what I think too. If you ask, you must not be because crazy people 99% of the time don't think they're actually crazy. So what do you do that people say such things about you?"

"I'm a cop. Detective akshualy."

"Well then, I guess I don't have anything to be afraid of after all, now do I?"

"Maybe. I don't think I'm a good person to know."

"I think you're still a good person to walk with though, if you'll let me?"

"Oh... shure, if only to keep me out of more trouble like this. Last thing I need is a busted foot."

"Thank you," she said, with much more depth than he would have expected from just someone to walk with.

"You're welcome," Bobby replied sure his confusion would show.

She giggled and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. That was just too... well there's no other word for it but, cute. I was also thanking you for not saying something like 'Well of course you can walk with me, it's not safe for a girl to be out alone.' You can imagine I hear that a lot."

He smiled a little. "Yesh, I imagine you do." He took a deep breath, blowing it out in a rush of air. "Well I guess we can get going. My name's Bobby by the way."

"And I am Althea. Very nice to meet you," she replied, shaking his hand. "If this first meeting is any indication I'm sure we're going to get along famously. I like making new friends, don't you?"

"I don't know. I've never been v'ry good at it. People tend to not like me pretty fast."

"Maybe you haven't met the right people." She took his arm and they began to meander along the park path.

"Maybe…" he rumbled. "Hey where are we going?"


	2. A Step From The Other Side

Hey there. For this chapter we're changing views for a spell so you can see both sides of the equation. There is some totally new stuff after the section from Althea's POV, so it's really not a gyp! 

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What a bloody, stinking night. Had to be tonight too didn't it? He just couldn't leave crap well enough alone… Noooo… Had to go making a big deal out of old news. She almost wished they HAD dated just so there would be some kind of reasoning for all the crap he pulled, but that was impossible. One because she could see right away that he was a mess waiting to happen, and her slight attraction to guys with a little baggage notwithstanding, she wasn't going to torture herself like that. Two, because the boy was totally and one hundred percent gay.

Ryan was a total sweetheart most of the time, but every so often he'd feel the need to rehash his latest drama-filled break-up, fire up all his friends about how men were scum, and how he was the wronged party, the jilted lover, in the affair. Which was ridiculous because nine times out of ten he was the one that drove them away with his theatrics. Althea loved the boy to death, but not when he decided it was time to get drunk and rant. That's when she politely took her leave and wandered off.

Tonight was supposed to be such a good night too. After three weeks of crazy deadlines piled on top of one another, she FINALLY had some time to herself where she could stay up all night, or drink, or just hang out and not worry about how much work she had left to do at home. So of course that's the night that Ryan HAD to pick to "perform" again. Since most of her friends wanted to stay despite the noise, or some in fact to watch the show, she walked alone through the neon and sodium lit streets. Again.

Althea sighed deeply as she walked through the park. She thought that the quiet could help her calm down and re-focus herself, hopefully enough for her to go back and spend more time with her friends. After one of his rants, Ryan usually found a new playmate to hook up and drink with… maybe more later if they hit it off. That was one thing she was jealous of: His ability to make an ass of himself and still have all the cute ones coming to talk to him.

As she made her way down the path, she heard noises from up ahead of her. Being aware that most people would consider a late night walk through any of New York City's parks extremely dangerous, she quietly crept forward, hoping to see what was going on without alerting anyone untoward of her presence. As the bushes gave way to a clearing on the left of the path, she saw a playground illuminated in the hazy light spilling over from the city beyond the oasis of green, and on the jungle gym she saw something that was definitely different, even for New York.

A man was swinging from the rings mounted on the jungle gym. Not a small man either. She guessed around six feet tall, but couldn't pin it down because he had his feet drawn up to keep them from scraping the ground. He seemed totally absorbed in what he was doing, like the outside world didn't exist. He had light hair, maybe grey, and a beard. He also looked like he might be a bit drunk and attempting a dismount maneuver.

It didn't work out too well for him. He landed in a heap on the soft sand below the rings. He had a very puzzled look on his face for a moment, as if wondering why it didn't work. She just had to say something now.

"Helpful hint," she said, "wait till you're sober before trying that again."

He looked up at her wistfully. "I don't think I'd try it all if I was sober."

She smiled and held out her hand to him. "Need a hand?"

"Sure. At least to help get my feet untangled."

She took his hand and helped him slowly to his feet, steadying him as he got his legs back under himself. He was certainly tall too. Over six feet by a few inches at least. Now that she was closer she could clearly see his hair was going from salt and pepper to steely gray and his beard was on the scruffy side, nicely matching his unruly curls in her opinion. The thing that struck her most strongly however was how young his face looked under it all. Especially those soulful brown eyes. Eyes that speak volumes in a single glance, though she noticed he tried to hide it. Graceful hands too, hands that in her mind played piano or created sublime art.

Through the course of a short conversation she discovered that he was having a bad time of things, he wasn't comfortable with himself right now, and that he was an NYPD detective. That was the last thing she had expected. With a bit of repressed trepidation, she decided to take this man under her wing, at least for the night, and see what came of it. He certainly seemed to need a friend, and not just any old friend, but someone who was willing to just let him be him.

Bobby, it seemed to her, was the kind of person who would get lost in himself for as long as you let him, but the longer you let him, the worse it would get. The guilty introspective, the one who the longer he thinks about what's gone wrong finds more ways to take the blame for them, even if they weren't really his fault. Not low self-esteem though, just a borderline martyr complex. Those kind of people just needed to be reminded, a lot, that while they make mistakes, not everything is in their control and not everything can be fixed.

"Maybe you haven't met the right people," she said as she took his arm and started down the path.

"Maybe," he rumbled. "Hey, where are we going?"

"I thought we'd continue through the park, see which side we come out on, then decide from there. Unless you don't want to walk anymore."

"I'd like to sit down sometime shoon. Not that 'm really feelin m'legs right now," he said with an impish grin, "but I'm bettin that shpill I took is gonna have my back bitchin at me in the mornin'."

"Maybe not as much as you think, since injury is many times not caused by the fall but by the tensing of the muscles right before. Since you've had a few and you weren't bracing for a fall, it's probable that you're going to be a tad stiff, but not in any pain. As for sitting down, I know of a café near here if that's OK?"

He studied her for a minute, once again processing everything she had said. "Ok. Café's fine." He kept looking at her. "You're shmart."

"Thank you."

"People shay 'm shmart too. But not ina good way."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Like 'm too shmart an I like showin off.

"Ahhh… They're jealous of you. Of your intelligence."

"No. They jus don like me."

"I'm not sure how that works, but I'll take your word for it now."

"Ok. I have trouble shometimes when I've been drinkin. Words come too fass an I can't fit… together… jumbles up."

"Your thoughts go too fast and you can't pin them down into words?"

"Exactly!" He exclaimed, swinging his free hand in a wild arc to punctuate the sentiment. "I think yer nice. Why're you nice to me?"

"Because a grown man on a jungle gym is interesting. I make an effort to only associate with interesting people."

"Some people shay 'm weird."

"Weird is also interesting. Hell, we're all weird in some way, most people just choose to repress and deny rather than accept and revel."

"Oh." Bobby decided that this was turning out to be a very different night than he had expected. Who was this girl? She was certainly different from most of the people he had met in his life. Sure there were a few friends he had in different lifestyles and subcultures, but while they were good people, they didn't seem the same as this girl. Why was that he wondered? What made her so much different? He mentally shook himself. He was very drunk and trying to figure it out now was going to lead nowhere. He just had to wait and see, and hope that the answer would reveal itself in time.


	3. Night In The Moon

A few minutes later, they had settled themselves in surprisingly comfortable outdoor seats at the Paper Moon Café. The waiter came over, ostensibly to drop off menus, but Bobby was sure it was to also check on just how drunk he was and if he was likely to be a problem.

"Don't worry about him," Althea said brightly, "he's fine, just a little wobbly."

The waiter left the menu and scurried off to his other tables.

"Well, I'm having tea. What'll it be Bobby? Water or juice?"

"What?"

"Water or juice to drink? I'd advise against coffee at this point. I'd also recommend nibbling on something too if you think your stomach won't mind."

"Umm… water. I can eat."

"See anything you like?"

He shrugged lopsidedly. "You order. It'sh hard to read right now."

She smiled at him gently. "Alright. I'll make sure it's yummy."

Their waiter returned to take their orders a few minutes later, leaving the table in silence with his departure.

"So…"

"Sho what?"

"So is there a reason besides seeking adventure that you decided to wander around the city tonight?"

She watched his expression darken. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it."

"Is it the same reason that led you to your drunken state?"

He looked up at her and glared. She smiled at him in return. "Fine, I won't ask any more about it. I must say that's a harsh glare you've got. I'm sure the bad guys quail at the sight of it."

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Are you good at your job?"

"Yeah. That's one thing I know for shure." She looked at him intently for a few moments and then he asked without meaning to, "Who are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I mean like… who are you? You came out of shadows and were nice to me and you think that being weird ish normal… Who are you?"

"Ahhh…" she replied. "I think I understand."

"Thatsh another thing… You understand when I know I didn't make shence."

Althea smiled at him again. "It's not as confusing as you think, maybe. But, to answer: As you know my name is Althea. I work in a little office in a huge building doing recordkeeping and basic tech support for the IT department of a large company. I also telecommute some of the time too. My co-workers have degrees in computer science and they like me because I'm nice, I'm smart, I'm at least semi-nerdy, I keep good records and make the slackers keep theirs up too, and I can handle basic PEBKAC problems so they don't have to."

"PEBKAC problems?"

"Problem Exists Between Keyboard And Chair."

He sat for a moment, saying the phrase under his breath a few times before he started to chuckle. A chuckle which deepened into an expansive laugh as the idea fully sank in. She thought he had a nice laugh and that he probably didn't do it nearly enough. He laughed for a full minute before he finally had to catch his breath, taking a deep drink of his water. The waiter also picked that moment to show up with their snack plate order.

They spent some time munching on the various items on the tray. Cheese and crackers, some cold cut slices, mini bagels, fruit chunks, cream cheese, and bruschetta .

"I love this stuff," Althea said between bites. "I try not to eat too much of it, but it's just so yummy."

Bobby nibbled thoughtfully on a piece of the bruschetta. "It is good. Not too greasy either."

"This is what I eat after I've been out drinking. Enough to give you some protein and flavor, but not enough to churn your stomach."

"So you told me about your job. What else do you do?"

"I like a lot of different things. I like reading and making things. I draw a little. I like art. I love books, I can spend hours in bookstores and libraries. Same with the internet too. Hours just reading. I love learning new things. I like adventure games, medieval Scandinavia, and cooking. I like gothic, techno, rock, 80's and darkwave music. I like movies, go-karts, and mini-golf… Ah, I'm rambling now."

"No no… It's… it's fine. I like learning about people. The more I know the better."

"Are you reading me?"

"Huh? Oh, no… I don't think so anyway. I wasn't trying to on… on purpose."

"But you like to. You're a profiler then? You like to know how people work to add to your knowledge base?"

"Yes… Sorry," he replied guiltily.

"No reason to be sorry. I'm interested to know what you've come up with about me."

"I'm… not done yet."

"Alright. So how about you?"

"I don't know… I don't think I'm that interesting, despite how you found me earlier."

"Bobby, come on. Fair trade here. Tit for tat. Tell me a little something."

"What did you say?" he asked, his face going deadly serious.

"I asked for reciprocation," she answered, puzzled at his tone.

He shook his head to clear it. "I'm… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… be harsh. It just caught me off guard. Someone I knew used that expression. Tit for tat. Sorry…"

"That's OK. If you don't want to talk about yourself it's OK," she said softly, making a mental note to never use that expression with him again. "We can talk about other things. The weather is nice tonight don't you think?"

"Yeah it is." He sat still for a minute, thinking. "I like books and reading too. My mom was a librarian. I don't watch a lot of movies. I like all kinds of music, though I'm not familiar with most of what you mentioned. I have mostly classical, jazz, and classic rock. I… I never played many games, I like history all over, and I can cook OK, enough so I'm not always living on takeout, which I've done too much of for a while now. I like learning also. I can speak five languages, three fluently, the other two I manage to be understood in everyday conversation. I'm not good with computers. I can send email and search the web, keep a spreadsheet and access a database, but beyond that I don't know much."

"You sound interesting enough to me. I think just about anyone who counts learning among their likes is at least somewhat interesting."

"I guess that could be. What time is it?"

"Hrm…" she frowned, pulling her phone from her pocket. "Oh wow, it's almost six!"

"Oh really? I have to be at work in a couple hours. Can't believe I stayed up like this."

"Feeling better though?"

"Yeah, actually. The food was a good idea. Thanks."

"You're welcome. The other thing I would suggest is to take the hottest shower you can stand when you get home, or before you go to work if you plan to try and sleep. Try and just stand under the water for about five minutes if you've got time too. Sweats the nasty out."

"Is that a scientific term?"

"No, but it seems to help."

"Well, I should see you home."

"You don't have to… I live kinda far from here…"

"Oh…" he said as his face fell a bit.

"Do you live close by?"

"I… think so. I kinda lost my bearings… what street is this?"

"Farthingale. The corner up there is 45th."

"Ok, I'm a few blocks away."

"Then," she grinned and her eyes sparkled, "why don't I walk _you_ home instead?"

"Oh," he said, "I don't want to make you go out of your way…"

"Ah! Can't stand to have a lady doing a man's job? I didn't take you for that sort Bobby."

"It's not that…" he hurried to say, but stopped short at her bubbling laughter. After a moment he joined in as well. "I don't mind at all."

They walked silently to his building, each enjoying the feel of the city around them and the pleasant company of an at least slightly kindred spirit. They reached the front door much too soon.

"I'm not usually the type of person who meets new people randomly, and especially not one I have such a nice time with. I'm actually happy to have met you, Althea."

"I do meet people randomly, but it's rare I meet someone as stimulating as you are Bobby. I am very pleased you could spend the evening chatting with me."

They both could feel the slight tension in the air. Neither one wanting to make the other uncomfortable, but also not ready to leave.

Bobby wasn't sure what he wanted. He liked that he could talk to her. That she seemed at least, not to judge him. But how would that change if he kept in contact with her? How long would she talk to him the more she got to know him? The poison question always in the back of his mind, when would she give up and leave?

Althea knew what she wanted. She wanted to be a friend to him. She wanted to be able to talk to him again, maybe finally find someone that would listen and be able to understand her. She wanted to help him, if he wanted to help himself. She liked her other friends, they were nice people and tried help when she needed it, but she couldn't help but feel like they were always two steps removed. She worried about this friendship ending up the same way, despite how promising it seemed at first.

"I.." "It.." they started at the same time.

"You first," Althea said.

"No, you… please"

"I was going to say that it would be nice to hang out again sometime. You know, during the day and stuff."

"I… I uh… I think that… that would be… great." He said, even as part of his mind berated him for saying it.

"Great! Umm… would you prefer if I emailed you?"

"Oh, no… I'll give you my number if you give me yours."

"Ok."

They exchanged numbers and made plans to call later in the week to get together before saying good night. Bobby watched Althea walk down the block until she turned the corner to get to the subway. He was worried about his decision to spend more time with her, but what was one afternoon spent trying to make a friend?

Althea could feel him watching her walk down the street. Protective, she could already tell. She smiled at the thought of getting to know him better. A new friend! It was always a happy occasion to her. Perfect excuse for pancake breakfast.


	4. Damage

The next day… well really later that morning, Bobby walked into the Major Case office and went straight to his desk, pausing only to put a hot cup of mocha hazelnut coffee on Eames' desk. He knew it wouldn't fix things, but he hoped it was a step in the right direction to working it out between them. He couldn't read her reaction at all when she came in a few minutes later, but she didn't throw it at him or in the trash, so he hoped it was OK.

"Morning," he said softly.

"Morning," she replied flatly. She sighed deeply, like she was considering saying more, then said "I would say you look like hell, but that seems normal for you."

"I guess so." He rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, then finally looked up at her. "I actually… don't feel as bad as I look today, I think."

She narrowed her eyes at him. She opened her mouth to retort, but stopped. He did look like he hadn't slept again, but his color seemed a shade better and he didn't seem to have the last bits of the hangovers he'd been dragging in lately too. "Well, thanks for the coffee," she mumbled and went off to push some files around. She wasn't sure whether she wanted things to get better or not, but that wasn't a decision to make yet.

Bobby was pleased the coffee had gone over the way he had intended. At least he thought it had.

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After leaving Bobby outside his building, Althea got on the subway heading back to her loft. Reclaimed industrial buildings were awesome. Plenty of space for below market. It would still bleed you dry due to it being NYC, but it actually approached affordable and had enough room for having friends over. She chatted with her neighbor Chaz on the last leg of the subway trip as he was coming home from his overnight shift. He mentioned her good mood, especially for coming home so late, then pondered lecherously if perhaps that was why she was coming home so late. She smacked his arm lightly and said that she had been up making a new friend and that it wasn't like that, thank you very much. He called after her that he still wanted to meet him as she got off the elevator on her floor.

Once in the door her two cats greeted her with insistent meows, not happy about having had to spend the night without their mommy. She reached down and petted them both saying, "It's time for mommy's breakfast you big babies," then headed into the kitchen. As she rounded the counter she saw the voicemail light on the phone was blinking. She didn't want to think about who was calling on her landline during the night. She put on the speaker and dialed the voicemail anyway. Sometimes her parents left messages instead of calling her cell.

The voice that came out however was the one she really didn't want to hear. It always said the same things. It always brought back the hurt, over and over again. Andrew. Why did he keep doing this? She sometimes wondered if his parents knew he did this, and what they thought if they did. One time he called when she had been home, it was only about the fifth time he had called back then. When she heard his voice on her old machine, she had picked up the phone and, in tears, asked him what he wanted her to do, what could she do? He had only said one thing before he hung up, and she never forgot it. He didn't call back for a while after that, but just when she thinks that maybe this time he's finally stopped, she gets that call once again.

She didn't feel like having pancakes anymore.

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Bobby & Alex had been at their desks, doing their respective paperwork in silence for a couple of hours before Ross came up to them. "There's been a murder. The nephew of a councilman, before you ask. The councilman called the mayor, the mayor called the chief and well… you get the idea."

"And the case," snarked Eames.

"Pretty much. I would say that it seems pretty open and shut, but you know how rarely that happens," Ross replied tiredly. "Just do your best to wrap it up quickly." He started to turn away but stopped. "Goren…"

"Yes?" he prompted as Ross trailed off.

"I'd tell you to not push yourself too hard," he sighed, "but I know how you are. Just say you'll try."

"I'll try."

"Good. Eames that goes for you too. You're both too good for me to lose right now."

"Yes Captain," she replied.

They grabbed their coats and headed for the elevators.

Ten minutes later, they arrived in front of the victim's building and headed inside. Goren was craning his neck around, taking everything in as usual, while Eames' pushed the button for the elevator. After minute she realized that the button wasn't lit up and she didn't hear anything like an elevator moving in the ancient looking shaft. She looked up at the metal grating that formed the walls around the elevator and saw the car still hanging where it was when they came in. "Great."

"Huh?" Goren said turning around at her voice.

"It's broken. We gotta walk up," she said, heading for the stairs that spiraled upwards around the elevator shaft that formed the heart of the building.

"Oh. Ok," he responded as he followed her up the stairs.

"What is with this place?" she wondered out loud as it seemed like every few random steps either echoed loudly or creaked horribly. "A councilman's nephew… who lived in a dump like this? I wonder who doesn't like who in that family. Although it does kind of remind me of my first apartment in the city."

"Death makes everyone important, Eames." She turned her head and gave him a look. "For a little while anyway."

"I guess so," she sighed. "Here we are, fourth floor."

They left the stairs and headed down the hallway to the open apartment door. Uniforms, CSU techs, and a couple of people from the ME's office made up the traffic going in and out, one final buzz of activity in the home of a life cut short. Eames and Goren joined the stream and were carried inside, coming to rest in the victim's living room. The scene was laid out before them. A tableau of blood and violence with the broken body as its centerpiece, as well as its window dressing. They looked at what they had been presented and began their intricate dance of sorting the gems from the broken glass, of finding the truth behind the whirlwind of fury whose aftermath they bore witness to.

Eames began to look around the room, her focus on what the young man had kept close to hand. Pictures, a few books, magazines, movies, a small table in the corner with tools and a half finished model on it. The detritus of a living person. Smiles forever frozen, work never done. She hated this part of the job, when the victim lived alone. Who in the pictures would care? Any of them? Would anyone come for the leftovers of their life, to care for it, to give the pieces to someone who would understand at least a little what it meant to them? Or would it all be swept into boxes and bags, dropped off at the local charity shop, leaving this life to fade away to nothing? She tried to stop herself from thinking about it too much.

Nothing really jumped out at her either. There didn't appear to be anything obvious that would give a hint as to why this man was killed, certainly not so violently. As she refocused herself she headed from the living room into the rest of the small apartment, taking it all in. Her partner she saw, had taken up his usual spot, gently prodding, lifting, and taking in the scents on the body. After the first few times he did it, she was struck by the thought that it almost seemed like he was trying to penetrate death itself and learn all its secrets. As she tried to dismiss the thought, it came to her that if was trying to do such a thing, it would only be to speak to the dead themselves and learn the truth, to seek justice for them. She once again turned her attention to the dead man's home, looking for the reason someone would kill him.

Bobby squatted on the floor next to the body. He spent a moment taking him in, learning his face, placing it foremost in his mind, where it would stay for as long as it took to find out who had done this to him and bring them to justice. Another hungry ghost wandering the halls of his mind, but this was his way, and he knew no other. The moment passed, and he leaned down to closely inspect the broken body before him. He had spoken with the ME on scene as he approached the victim. Blunt force trauma and quite a lot of it, a number of blows could have been the fatal one, but there was no way to pinpoint exactly which one did the deed.

After the clinical recitation of the doctor, he began his own observations in his mind. Rage. So very much rage he saw played out before his eyes. He could almost see the path of the obliteration of this man through the room. It started near the door, but the weapon didn't come into play until the living room. It must have been a bat, or similar club like object, the bruises were wide, the bones more crushed than simply snapped, the damage unfocused in the impact areas. The victim tried to fight back, but had nothing to block with, nowhere to run to with the attacker standing between him and the door, and perhaps had been too drunk to fight, seeing as how Bobby had caught the sour smell of old booze on him. He looked up to see Eames watching him from the doorway to the man's bedroom as he scanned the living room.

"Find anything?" he asked her.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she replied. "You?"

"Well, blunt object beating, could have been… too drunk to put up a fight. I'd guess… he came home alone, and then the attacker came by. No forced entry so he let them in."

"Someone he knew?"

"Maybe."

"Definitely not someone he thought was a threat. Boy was he wrong."

"Yes."

"Well I guess he found out the hard way."

"Found what out, Eames?"

"Never underestimate what people are capable of."

"Definitely. Let's go see about questioning the neighbors, see if they can give us anything to go on."

Eames nodded her agreement and led them out of the apartment. She felt the eyes on them all the way around. The people of the building, poking their heads into the openings of cracked doors. After the initial rush of people had calmed, they wanted, needed to see what was going on just outside their doors. A few would move, a few would request to switch apartments, but most would stay right where they were… right next door to tragedy. Another life lost, another day come and gone, another step on the trail of survival. She wondered if any of them had even met the man in 4E, much less had any idea of who could have hated him so much.

Sebastian Arnold  
1985-2008

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Hey there. Sorry to take so long. Hopefully the next chapters won't take so long. Please leave me a review too. Please? 


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